The Man Who Didn't Know That Much
by Demons' Mistresses
Summary: Valmont gets an inheritance and has to join a certain sect. Will he get through it safe and sound? Or rather, will he even get through it at all?
1. Chapter 1

This is a fic co-written by **Gemini Artemis** and **VampireNaomi**. We took turns in writing a paragraph or two. Also, we are making this up as we go, so the plot may take strange turns.

We don't own JCA, Valmont or any of the characters.

And this story takes place during a certain episode. It's obvious which one it is, if you've seen it.

* * *

**THE MAN WHO DIDN'T KNOW THAT MUCH**

**Chapter 1**

The steady hum of the plane was not enough to make Valmont feel at ease. He sat stiff, keeping his hands on his loyal cane – one of the things he had refused to sell when the Shendu incident had left him penniless – and stared out of the window.

The plane was luxurious, almost like the one he had had in the past. His seat was covered in satin and to him it looked like he was in a hotel room instead of a flying vehicle. It was a pity the plane didn't belong to him.

He shifted on his place as he thought about the people who owned everything he could see. What had happened during the past week had been quite a surprise and shock to him. To think that his own uncle...

Valmont shook his head to himself. In some way he hadn't done any better himself. Though he still had to smile as he thought about it. If his father had known what had been going on in the Valmont family the poor man would have snapped.

Like most of the members of his family, his uncle had been cold and withholding, and he had indeed behaved oddly and reservedly once in a while, especially at night. He had left home very early and had rarely contacted the rest of the family. Nobody had ever really bothered to try to understand him.

Who would have guessed he had actually belonged to a secret sect? A London-based sect that was created in the Middle Ages and whose members mastered magic and claimed to be the Magisters.

However, his uncle had recently died, and his vacancy in the sect should have been inherited by a descendant of his. And since he had no children, there was only one option.

Then, it had been a week ago when Valmont had received a letter from the Magisters explaining about the occurrence. He had had to read it about ten times to absorb all the information, not believing what was written there. He was his uncle's heir and had been summoned to join the Magisters.

Valmont had grown up in London, but to his dismay he had to admit that he had never before heard of these Magisters. A few years before leaving the city and the British Isles he had started to pay more attention to the rumours in the underworld, but never had he heard anyone mention this group.

It could mean one of two things; either the Magisters were a country club of lunatic old men or they were powerful enough to be able to keep their business a secret.

And now he was to be one of them. Aside from inheriting a position in the sect he was now the owner of his uncle's property as well. That included a luxurious residence in London, a bigger one in the countryside and quite a fat bank account. This pleased and excited him much more than this... club of conspirators, or whatever they were.

In other words, he was filthy rich again and could re-start his business in San Francisco in no time. First he'd only take a look at his newfound property, perhaps spend a day or two in either of his new houses and have a word with the Grand Master of the Magisters.

The thought of this unpleasant task made Valmont frown. He was in no way interested in joining the sect of his mad uncle. At least not before he knew what they were like.

After all, he had already had his own experience with magic, and it had not been pleasant at all. Just remembering Shendu still made his blood boil. Because of the fire demon, Valmont had lost everything and had no conditions to maintain the Dark Hand. That bloody dragon had ruined his life!

But that would not last for too long. A slight, pleased smile appeared on Valmont's face as he thought of his uncle's inheritance; it had really come in good time. He probably should not be thinking this way, but his uncle's death was quite useful.

He shifted on his place again. He still didn't feel at ease, but the trip from San Francisco to London was very lengthy even by plane, and he was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable.

He glanced at his watch. He was not exactly near his destination, but had already covered a considerable distance. Well, he just had to be patient. Soon, everything would be as before, or even better.

oOo

Finally, after several more long hours, Valmont's plane landed on the London airport. He stepped out with the other passengers, stretching his muscles and looking around. The airport looked just like he had last seen it; busy, noisy and filled with people from all over the world.

Deciding that it was not a good idea to waste any time he took a firmer hold of his cane and started making his way through the crowd. He had no luggage because he had planned to buy everything he needed in London - not that he had much worth taking with him now in the first place.

"Hey, excuse me, sir!" a voice shouted. Valmont paid it no attention, not even when the talker came closer and closer to him. He tried to walk away, an indifferent expression on his face, but his newfound stalker would not give up.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he was forced to stop.

"What do you want?" he asked rudely, turning around and looking at the man he was confronting over his nose. God, he hoped the man wasn't part of any modern religious cult. Those kind of freaks were always bothering normal people everywhere they could. Real vultures!

"Are you Mr. Valmont?" the man asked him.

Valmont frowned in suspicion. How could that man know his name?

"Who are you?" he enquired on guard.

"Your new... _Brother_," the man answered in an enigmatic tone, giving him a meaningful look. For a moment, Valmont even wondered if he was crazy or talking in a code – perhaps he really was one of those Magisters?

Before thinking of anything to say, Valmont noticed that the man had held his jacket as though he wanted to start buttoning it, but now his hands remained on that position. That was most likely a calculated gesture, because that way Valmont could clearly see that this mysterious man was wearing a golden ring in which there was something that looked like an 'M' crossed by an 'I'.

Valmont remembered having seen that symbol before. It had been on the letter that the Magisters had sent him. Then, this man was certainly one of them.

He mentally sighed, considering if he should go with him. He did not really want to meet their leader, but then again, he would have to sooner or later. Besides, this buffoon probably would not leave him alone if he refused to go.

"Oh, it's one of you people," Valmont sighed and the man hid his ring, obviously pleased because Valmont had caught the hint.

"Now, you must come with me," the man announced. "Quick, before they notice us!" As he spoke the man glanced around with his screwy eyes. His long nose and face, combined with startlingly blue - and mad - eyes made him look like a man Valmont did not want to be seen in public with.

"They? Who? And what is your name?" he asked taking a step away when the man tried to catch his arm.

"You mustn't ask your brother's name in public!" the man exclaimed suddenly and waved his arms around like a windmill. People were starting to pay attention to him, but seemed to think that he was just a lunatic old man, merely another victim of poor social services.

Valmont was starting to feel that whoever these Magisters were, he didn't want to be associated with them.

"I need to get to my hotel," he said, deciding that it was for the best to get rid of this madman before things got too far. He couldn't go to his uncle's place because all arrangements had not been taken care of yet. "Perhaps I can call you later?" _Hopefully not._

The other man nodded in approval. "Good plan, Brother!" he said. "This way they can't follow the both of us! We will keep in touch." With this the man suddenly disappeared in the crowd, as if he had never been there in the first place.

Valmont stood there a while, but started to head off then. As he walked by a small stand he couldn't help noticing the headlines in all newspapers.

"Stonehenge stolen?" he asked in bewilderment.

He approached to read it better and decided to buy one of the newspapers to read the article. After all, that was quite an unusual event.

He opened it in the right page and quickly read the article, intrigued. What did this mean? The Stonehenge was not something that could be stolen just like that, overnight. One could not take away all those heavy stones without anybody noticing. According to the news, the Stonehenge had disappeared so fast and mysteriously that it even seemed magic.

Valmont felt a cold shiver go down his spine as he thought of that. He hoped it was not those Magisters' doing. After all, they supposedly mastered magic and were crazy enough to try stealing the Stonehenge.

He then shook his head to himself. No, he was probably worrying for nothing. Why would they want to steal the Stonehenge, anyway?

Then again, he still should be careful. They had sent one of their men to come and wait for him in the airport, and since Valmont had not gone with him, they would probably come after him again. And after talking to that insane man, Valmont decided that he definitely did not want to join them.

He closed the newspaper and continued his way to the hotel, glancing around all the time to make sure that nobody was following him.

It was a dark, cool afternoon in London and the sky was already starting to get dark. Despite this there were still lots of people on the street; a city like London could never seem completely deserted.

Valmont kept looking around. He couldn't see anyone, but he somehow knew that he was being watched. _It's those Magisters,_ he thought to himself. Why were they so interested in him? What could they possibly want?

Someone collided with him and he realised that he hadn't been looking in front of himself. He rubbed his chest where the shorter man's shoulder had hit him and reminded himself that there was no reason to get paranoid. At least not yet.

It was already getting dark when he arrived to the hotel.

He entered and sighed in relief for having finally arrived, and with no more 'incidents.' A bit calmer, he headed to the reception.

"Good evening, sir," the man on the other side of the desk greeted him.

"Good evening. There is a reserva-" Valmont started, but the man interrupted him.

"I know, everything is ready," he said, handing a key to Valmont. "Room thirteen, third floor."

Valmont blinked and took the key, a bit confused. The man flashed him an odd smile.

"Have a good night," he said and then spoke in a whisper, "_Brother_." And he went back to his work.

Valmont's eyes widened and he stared at the man, until he raised his glance to him.

"Is something wrong, sir?" he asked with his normal tone of voice.

"Uh, no, nothing," Valmont answered and went to take the lift. Had he heard it right? Or had he imagined all that?

He shook his head to himself. He was already beginning to let his paranoia take over him. There was nothing to worry about.

oOo

It was already almost midnight. Valmont was glad for sleeping in such a soft bed after a long and tiring trip and a disturbing encounter with that lunatic. Or perhaps two disturbing encounters, but he preferred to believe that he had been just too tired and had started to hear things.

Suddenly, a noise woke him up. Valmont quickly sat up and looked around. The room was dark and silent, except for the tip-tap of the clock. He had probably dreamed, or perhaps it had been a noise in the streets.

Yes, it was nothing. He did not have to worry.

Valmont lay down again and closed his eyes. Five minutes later, he felt something shaking his arm.

"Hey, Brother," someone called him. Valmont, being sure that he was not just dreaming this time, opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with the two people he had last expected – and wished – to see: the crazy man from the airport and the man who had been in the reception desk, the both of them wearing robes, hoods, and a medallion with the Magisters' emblem.

"ARRRGH!"

The man from the airport brought his face close to Valmont's and whispered in a serious tone, "Thou should not scream, my brother. We have come for thee."

Valmont sat in his bed, eyes wide and clutching his blanket as if it was the only thing that kept him in contact with reality.

"Come for me? What do you mean?" he asked, clear panic in his voice. Who the bloody Hell were these Magisters?

"Fear not, the veil of ignorance shall be lifted soon," the man from the reception desk said. He threw something at Valmont's bed. The Brit noticed that it was a robe, similar to the ones his guests were wearing.

"Wear this with pride, Brother, and we shall take thee to our secret lair tonight. Then thou shalt receive thine answers," the airport man announced, waving his hands like he had done a couple of hours earlier.

Valmont knew a migraine was coming.

"Now?" He glanced at the clock. "It's almost bloody midnight!"

The two men nodded. "Exactly," they replied, facing him seriously. Deciding that it was no use arguing with them – and seeing that they would not leave him alone this time –, Valmont sighed in exasperation and put on the robe they had given him.

"All right, let's get this over with!" he snapped and stood up.

"Do not forget to wear the hood, Brother," the airport man reminded him. Valmont rolled his eyes and put on the hood with no enthusiasm. _I wish they would stop calling me Brother..._

"Come," the reception man said, taking the lead. The other two followed him and left the room. Valmont stared at the two men and took a look at himself, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to keep his sanity. He was feeling so stupid dressed like this...

The two men led him out of the hotel to the streets. It was dark, cool and there was a strange, misty feeling in the air. Valmont couldn't quite call the weather foggy, though. The streets were also unusually quiet, not even the sound of traffic could be heard. It made him feel restless, well, more than he was already.

"Where are we going?" he asked the airport man. He also realised that he had no idea what the names of these men were.

The man turned to look at him with a serious glare in his eyes.

"Thou shalt not speak before thou meetest our Grand Master," he whispered dramatically. After that he returned to taking Valmont further away. After a while they stopped.

"Here lieth our transportation to our secret lair!" the other of the men declared. Valmont's eyes grew as big as saucers.

"Horses!"

The two Magisters got on their horses and turned to Valmont, who could just stand still and stare at the horse.

"Hurry, Brother, we have not much time," the airport man said.

"You have got to be joking!" Valmont replied, shaking his head.

"What is the matter? Thou knowest not how to ride a horse?" the reception man asked.

"I do, but -"

"Then get on thy horse and let us go!"

Reluctantly, Valmont got on his horse and frowned. Now he felt even stupider.

The two Magisters nodded in approval and looked forward.

"_Hweorfan_! Yah!" they shouted, punching the air, while Valmont just lightly hit his heels against the horse's sides, and the three animals started to run on the streets of London.

Valmont couldn't believe this. Why did these strange things always have to happen to him? He had also to wonder if all the Magisters were like those two. He really hoped not, but had the nasty feeling that his hopes would be in vain. And if that was true, how would he get out of this mess?


	2. Chapter 2

**THE MAN WHO DIDN'T KNOW THAT MUCH CHAPTER 2**

They went on for hours, or at least it was what it felt like for Valmont. It had been years since he had ridden a horse, and he wasn't quite fit for any horseback riding activity. He was tired and sore and knew from experience that it would only get worse by the following morning.

Oh, how he hated horses!

At one point during the trip, he had complained about the pain, but his two companions had not even glanced at him. Valmont had frowned; he hated being ignored!

"How much farther now?" he finally asked, tired of keeping quiet.

"Not much, Brother. Just after that hill," said the airport guy.

"Already?" asked Valmont, raising an eyebrow. They had barely left London!

"Of course, that is not our true lair," pointed out the other man. "Thou hast just been accepted as one of us, and telling thee our secrets is not an option!"

Valmont rolled his eyes.

"Welcome to the optionless' club," he muttered sarcastically. Then, he addressed them again, out loud, "And what if I am not accepted?" he asked. Perhaps he could find a way to convince them that he didn't "deserve" to join the Magisters, so they would leave him alone once and for all.

"If thou art not accepted, we shall have to make sure thou cannot reveal our secret, of course. Thou already knowest too much," replied the airport man.

_Do I?_ Valmont wondered, raising an eyebrow. Then, he turned his attention back to what the man had said previously.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. How would they make sure he wouldn't tell anything?

"I mean we shall have to eliminate thee," clarified the receptionist. Valmont paled and his eyes widened a little. If he had understood correctly, his only options were either join the Magisters or die?

"But surely it won't come to that, right?" he asked the others. "I mean, we're all modern men and killing anyone for such a minor detail is a little... old-fashioned, don't you think?"

At that, his two companions stopped their horses and turned to glare at him.

"Never, ever say that word among our brotherhood!" said the receptionist threateningly.

_What word?_ Valmont wondered, but didn't have time to ask. He didn't really want to, at any rate. You couldn't argue with madmen.

He realised he had no idea what his annoying companions were called. He almost asked, but that was when the others had announced they had come to the end of the trip.

The horses stopped and three men dismounted. Valmont looked around; there was not special there. The place looked a little abandoned and dark, but that was it. Not that he had expected anything else from a secret group, anyway.

"This way," whispered the receptionist, gesturing at him to follow them. The trio then entered an ancient-looking house. When the airport man closed the door behind them, all was very dark, and Valmont could barely see his surroundings.

On the other hand, he could clearly hear the other two men's steps and was able to follow them. He had to wonder how they could find their way through such deep darkness without bumping into anything. Well, perhaps they had already got accustomed to it...

He stopped for a brief instant when he saw that the receptionist was opening a heavy wooden door. They entered and went down some stone stairs. Luckily, this hallway had torches on the wall that reasonably lit their way.

_This is insane! _Valmont thought as he looked around the hallway. He felt as if he had been taken into a historical B-movie. He stopped for a moment to take a look at the heavy armour that decorated a corner – it was rusty, old, and looked like it would need at least three men to move it.

He wondered if it was real, but didn't have time to pursue the subject. His two companions had not stopped to wait for him and he had to hurry after them.

When he caught up with them, they were already about to open another door. They turned to look at Valmont at the last minute.

"We assume thou hast read the instructions and memorised the secret oath?" said the receptionist.

_What oath?_

Both men turned around again and opened the door very slowly, as if to make a dramatic effect, but it only made a loud, irritating creak. When the door was wide open, they took some steps forwards to go into the huge room lit only by candlesticks. In the centre, the Magisters' symbol was marked on the floor, and, around it, at least twenty Magisters were gathered, all of them wearing hoods that hid their faces.

It was worse than he had thought. He had to get away from here and fast. He would have turned around right then and run off with all his might, if only all eyes of those present had not focused on him.

The receptionist and the airport man bowed briefly and one of the Magisters, who was standing across from them at the circle, took two steps forwards.

"Here is our new brother," stated the receptionist, stepping away from Valmont. The other man did the same, leaving Valmont visible to all those in the room.

"Very well," said the Magister who had moved in the circle, supposedly their leader.

The new Magister, who was obviously their leader, made a simple hand gesture and the two men who had guided Valmont took their places in the circle.

All was silent, and he decided that he had to do something to escape safe and sound.

"I say, there was a mistake," he began, with confidence, and took off his hood. He waited for the Magister to do the same, since he felt awkward speaking to him when he couldn't see his face.

There was an audible series of gasps.

"He hath disgraced our secret tradition!" came a shout from the circle.

That was not a good sign. Thinking he should have kept his mouth shut, Valmont took a step back, his eyes widening as the Magisters started to whisper to each other vehemently.

He looked back, where the door was. The idea of running off as fast as his legs could permit was beginning to sound more and more tempting. Well, he certainly wouldn't meet a happy ending here, weaponless, with a bunch of crazy, furious magicians.

Valmont turned on his heels and ran to the door, but was forced to stop when he saw two Magisters coming in and blocking his way. Now he was surrounded. Looking around, he saw there was another door, but it was on the other side of the room and he would have to get past all the Magisters in the circle.

What would he do now? Suddenly, he wished he had never come back to his native country. He always got into trouble when he did.

"Shall we dispose of him?" one of the Magister asked them Grand Master, who stood still like a statue. Everyone's eyes were fixed on his face.

"No," he answered at last. Valmont sighed in relief. "He is new and knoweth not our ways."

One of the Magisters took a step forwards.

"Shall I teach him, Master?" he asked.

"Yes."

While he was glad the Magisters apparently did not intend to kill him – at least not yet –, somehow, he did not like the Magisters' tone of voice. Watching the Magister coming towards him, he could not help but wonder if this "teaching" would be in any way painful.

Not that he wasn't already suffering mentally, that is.

Without noticing, he took a step back when the Magister was just a few metres away. Well, if it were necessary, he could still resort to his skills in martial arts, but perhaps it wasn't very wise to face all of these Magisters.

Besides, doing aerial kicks on a robe wasn't that good an idea. He had been able to pull it off when he had been possessed by Shendu, but now he didn't even want to try. What a beautiful scene it would make; him tripping and falling on his face in front of all these maniacs.

"Brother Harewood shall teach thee our ways," said the Grand Master in his loud, powerful voice.

Valmont eyed his teacher. The man was perhaps a little older than him, had dark brown hair and dark eyes. There was absolutely nothing special about his face. In fact, he looked so ordinary that it was as though he had made it into an art form.

"Come," said Harewood, gesturing at him. "Let us explore the castle, and I shall teach thee our history."

Just explore the castle and listen to the Magisters' history? Valmont mentally sighed in relief. Well, that wasn't so bad. That would give him a chance to get to know this place and, with some luck, find out where the exits were. Thus, his escape would be more successful.

He followed Harewood out of the room, taking a quick, inconspicuous glance behind. So far, it seemed the other Magisters would not be following them. Excellent. That made things much easier.

Harewood stopped abruptly and indicated an old wooden door to his right.

"Here is a very important place," he said seriously, and Valmont nodded, paying much attention. "It is our private watercloset."

Valmont arched an eyebrow and stared at the man, but he looked very sober. Deciding against making any comments, he just nodded again and the two continued on their way.

Within a minute, they entered another room. The walls were smooth and there was nothing in there.

"This room symboliseth a very important part of our history," explained Harewood while waving his hands.

"It's completely empty," commented Valmont.

"That is right. We used to keep the portraits of our Grand Masters here, but after the great flood caused by the watercloset next door in 1845, we learnt that having a museum so close to waterclosets is not a good idea."

Before Valmont had time to ask any question, Harewood went on, speaking nonstop. In the next room, there was a pile of round stones. At first, it looked like they had just been scattered around, but, upon taking a closer look, Valmont realised the stones had actually been placed there so as to form a picture. A very rude picture.

"And here thou shalt stop for a moment to marvel at the great work of our Grand Master."

Valmont raised an eyebrow and pointed at the rocks.

"What is this? It makes no sense!" Perhaps it was some kind of modern art?

Harewood didn't seem to have heard Valmont's question.

"Unfortunately, he was declared a wizard and burnt in 1354, and could never finish his project. Some say he was insane and was betrayed by his apprentice, but we listen not to such rumours."

"And those rocks are there, like that, since 1354?!"

"Yes," said Harewood, nodding. "We take great pride in preserving our historical heritage."

"I see. Historical heritage. Right," said Valmont. Then, realising how cynical he had sounded, he added, "Well... Great job!"

That seemed to please the man, who raised his chin proudly and gave the smallest of smiles. It was the first time the Magister had showed a positive emotion, however remote and dubious it was.

"Thou shalt be expected to perform weekly maintenance once thou joinest our brotherhood."

"Don't you have any employees to do that kind of service?" asked Valmont, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of working as a caretaker.

Harewood said nothing, just gave him a Look.

"Weekly maintenance, then," said Valmont quickly, with forced enthusiasm. "I just can't wait to contribute to the preservation of the brotherhood's historical heritage!"

Harewood stared at him expressionlessly, his gaze more intense than ever, as though searching for any trace of dishonesty in Valmont's very mind and soul. Valmont had to wonder if these people could read minds, as well. Suppressing a shudder, Valmont forced himself to smile friendly and look back at the man with as much calm and innocence as possible. After a while that had probably been a lot shorter than it had felt, Harewood nodded in approval.

"That is the spirit, Brother!" he said before moving on.

"What have I got myself into?" Valmont muttered to himself as he followed Harewood into another room.


End file.
